


The Assassin's Mark (discontinued)

by Nievia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Antivan Crows, Assassin's in love, Assassin's in training, Assassins, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kisses, Physical Abuse, Pre-Blight, Racial slurs, Racism, Romance, Seriousness, Sexual Abuse, So is Tabris, Zevran has mental scars, Zevran is sexy, archers, but only in the beginning, during the blight, poor baby, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nievia/pseuds/Nievia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After every conquest, Zevran leaves some sort of mark; a hickey or perhaps a token of his appreciation. But when he meets Lysia Tabris, an elvish woman who lives in the slums of Denerim, he leaves something more permanent. A z-shaped scar on the inside of her wrist along with a promise that he would see her again, that she would be his last and only conquest from that moment on. But Zevran is still an Antivan Crow, and when duty calls, he disappears. Thinking she has been abandoned, Lysia wears the scar hidden away under her sleeve. But what if Zevran never forgot her? What if he planned to keep his promise? What if, Zevran Arainai, assassin and lover of many men and women alike, carved an 'L' into his wrist as his own reminder?<br/>AU where Zevran meets the Warden before they're conscripted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoy this first chapter of The Assassin's Mark!  
> I will be updating on either Monday's or Thursdays.  
> If you have any comments or constructive criticism please feel free to talk to me about it.  
> Enjoy loves!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: italicized words originally meant to be italicized, fixed some tense-changing errors

Zevran missed Antiva as soon as he arrived to Denerim that night. Missed the smell of fine leather and perfume wafting from the brothels and the loudness of the streets in the daytime. Hopefully he could get this job done quickly so he wouldn't have to stay too long. He slung his pack over his shoulder, leather armor creaking with the movement, and strutted through quiet night-time streets illuminated by only the lights from the houses lining the roads. Bar doors were open wide to invite guests in and let the stench of sweat and alcohol out, uproarious laughter drifting out as Zevran stepped past. Of course he had to find the inn he would be staying in and then meet up with his contact for the details of the upcoming assassination. Maybe afterwords he could try to find a brothel to relax in. His trip had been long and boring, and there was always the possibility to aquire information. The men and women there always had good intel, if given the right price or sweet-talked enough (but Zevran found that money loosed lips more than his tongue could). He could use a good tumble between the sheets before the _real_ work began, anyways.

It was only when an arrow whizzed past his ear that he realized he had stepped into the wrong part of town. That's what he got for thinking about brothels, he supposed. A shout came from in front of him,

"Oi! Knife-ear!"

Zevran turned a lazy eye to the figure. Obviously human, obviously poor, and obviously looking for easy money. Zevran would have laughed if it wouldn't attract more attention; besides, there were two more people hiding behind barrels in the alleyway to his left. Wouldn't want to let them know he already had their positions pinned down  _too_  soon. "Was there something you needed?" He asked, voice smooth as he offered the man a smile.

"Drop the bag and kick it towards me," he paused and added, as if an afterthought, "And empty your pockets too!"

The man held the bow in his shaking hands. He wouldn't be much of a shot, trembling like that, and Zevran was sure that if the others were in the same state as this one, they wouldn't have much of a chance either.

He shrugged, "If you insist," he replied, dropping the bag. As he kicked it, he dropped into a crouch and slid his daggers out of their hidden sheaths in his boots and threw a smoke bomb on the ground within seconds. Shouts sounded and he grinned as arrows flew through the smoke and right past him. Just as he was about to leap out into the cover of the barrels and take down two of the thugs, he heard a new kind of shout. The kind you make when you _know_ you're dead. Then nothing. He dove for the barrels in the nearby alleyway and saw the two bodies of the men he had been planning to kill first. They had arrows through their hearts. It wasn't often he saw people shoot with such precision and skill, especially from people who weren't trying to kill him.

Zevran heard her before he saw her and tightened his grip on his blades. He wasn't about to make the first move and end up like the men soaking in their own blood and filth in the alley. Instead, he stayed completely still, listening for the ruffling of clothes - a peasant, maybe? - and dainty footsteps he was sure had to belong to a woman. He focused on the thin shadow falling onto the stone in front of him. From the long hair and soft looking curves, they had to be a woman. And from the arrow aimed at his back, she had to be a deadly one.

"You really don't have to be so cautious, I'm not going to hurt you, especially with a pretty face like yours." He tossed a look over his shoulder and locked eyes with her, pleased that his assumption of her beauty was correct. Her hair was long, white, and curly, spilling over her face and shoulders in soft looking rivulets. Her lips were pursed in concentration as her muscles flexed and held her bowstring back. Her tan skin was sprinkled with freckles - no doubt she worked outside - and her eyes seemed to glow a luminescent green under the moonlight. But what really caught his eye was her form. It was impeccable and unwavering; she had complete control of her weapon, even after having that arrow notched and trained on him for so long.

"You can never be too careful, especially if you live in the Alienage." She said.

Zevran turned to her fully, "Are you going to lower your weapon or can I continue to enjoy the view? I _do_ like deadly women."

She continued to eye him, but lowered her bow. "Then you're either a fool or an even deadlier man."

He laughed as he sheathed his weapons, "Smart, deadly, and beautiful! To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

The elvish woman stared at him as if he were crazy, "Who's asking?"

Zevran bowed, taking her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. "Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows, at your service."

She tugged her hand out of his grasp as he straightened himself to his full height. "You're a Crow?"

"That is what I said, isn't it?"

She took a small step back.

"Oh please, if I wanted you dead it would be done already. Have more faith! I _am_ a professional, after all."

"So, you aren't going to kill me?"

"Not if you tell me your name, mi amor."

"Lysia, Lysia Tabris."

Zevran bowed again, "A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now if you don't mind me asking," he paused, "where did someone like _you_ learn to fight like _that_?"

Lysia scowled, "Just because I'm an elvish peasant and a woman doesn't mean I can't defend myself, Mr. I-Got-Lost-in-the-Alienage."

Zevran laughed and clapped her on the back as she shied away. "I didn't mean it like that. And if you know so much about Denerim, then perhaps you could be so kind to lead me to a place to stay tonight? An inn... Your bedroom, maybe? I'm willing to share."

Lysia rubbed her shoulder where he hit her apparently too hard, a contemplative frown on her face. "If I take you to an inn, maybe show you around town... could you do me a favor in return?"

Zevran - despite taking a wrong turn into the Alienage - already knew how to get around Denerim fairly well, but as he watched Lysia strap her bow to her back and shuffle her feet, watching her shoes scuff up dirt, he found himself curious. "And what kind of favor would that be?"

Then her eyes met his with a determination that almost made Zevran take a step back in his surprise. "I want you to teach me how to be an assassin."


	2. Chapter 2

             Zevran's fingers slid down her warm back, his lips brushing hers as he gripped her naked hip with his free hand.

             "Zev..." she breathed. a hint of laughter tasting sweet on Zevran’s tongue.

             He let his lips wander down her neck and onto her collarbone, his breath ghosting against her skin. His hands gripped her tighter, enough to leave a sprinkle of purple bruises as a reminder, and pressed her closer to his chest. "Rinnala,"

* * *

 

             Zevran jolted awake, sweat matting his fine blond hair to his forehead. His breath was ragged and he pressed a hand to his chest, blinking the dream out of his eyes. He had hoped that leaving Antiva would quell the memories. Of course, there was no escaping the death of Rinna, he should have known that. Pushing a hand through his damp hair, he let out a breath.

             Today he would have to talk to his contact and start preparations, today he would have to start teaching Lysia how to be a proper assassin. Why she would want that kind of life, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Then again, he was more or less forced into the Crows, and maybe having the power to choose would help. Zevran threw his blankets off of him, exposing tanned naked skin to the crisp morning air of Ferelden. Maker, he missed Antiva.

             After dressing and strapping on all of his weapons - both hidden and not - he stepped out of the inn Lysia had showed him the night before. He smiled, remembering the flush on her cheeks and the way she avoided his eyes when he kissed her hand goodbye, leaving her a promise to see her the next day along with a sweeping, superfluous bow before disappearing into the revelry of the bar. Then, he had been curious - even excited - to start teaching the young city elf. But seeing Rinna again, even if it was only a dream,never failed to remind him of his failures, and as Zevran started toward the rendezvous point to figure out the details of the upcoming assassination he found himself in no mood to deal with a student, beautiful woman or not.

             When he arrived at the meeting place, it was empty and eerily silent. Not even the usual bustling from the streets didn't reach the square. Zevran kept to the shadows, watching the morning sun glint off the windows of nearby houses. He spotted a dog stepping out of an alley, ribs showing through its skin. One of its ears was torn and it slumped as it walked with a limp. Poor thing, Zevran thought, it should be properly cared for, at least put out of its misery. The dog's ears pricked, and Zevran leaned forward as he watched a shadow fall over the beast. It ducked its head down low and growled before a foot promptly kicked into its head, knocking it over. The dog scrambled up to its feet with a whimper and scampered away. Zevran scowled. This must be his contact, if the information he had gotten from his guild had been correct.

             His eyes wandered up to the man's face. He looked to be a lord of high standing, as his clothes were made of a fine cloth and his fingers were adorned with a small army of rings varying in value. Then he saw the figure standing next to the lord, small and shrunken into herself, hands holding a small package, looking nothing like the determined woman asking to be taught under his watchful eye the night before.

             "Lysia?" He murmured, eyebrows raising.

             The man - Lord Fernond, according to the information given to him by the Crows - scowled at Lysia. "Give me that, Rabbit," he grumbled, snatching the package from her hands and tearing a small hole in the bottom of the bag and coins to jingle out onto the ground. "Clumsy bitch,"  he spat, shoving her onto her knees, "Pick them up, and be quick about it!"

             Zevran decided that it was time he stepped out and met the lord. As he appeared from the shadows, he kept the typical blank facade of the Antivan Crows, becoming merely an indifferent spectator to the cruelty of mean, a weapon in the hands of the people of Thedas.

             Zevran bowed, offering a slight curve of his lips in recognition. “Lord Fernon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Lysia tensed at the sound of Zevran’s accented voice.

             Fernond’s eyes flicked from the tattoo on Zevran’s face to his pointed ears. “Ah, you must be the Crow I called for. You’re late.”

             Zevran’s own eyes slid to Lysia’s crouching form. Her hands had paused in their work of retrieving the coins her employer (master?) dropped and her hair was tied into a firm bun. Her clothes were simple - soft browns and beiges falling down to her ankles. She kept her face angled downward and didn’t flinch when Lord Fernond slapped the back of her head, “Hurry up,” he snapped, turning back to Zevran. “I apologize for her incompetence. Now… about our little deal…”

             Lysia stood, continuing the sunken-in posture of an abused servant, and held the bag of coins out for the man before she stepped behind him, head down so her chin touched her chest. Lord Fernond tossed Zevran the bundle, “I need you to kill Kyr Mirynn.” Lysia’s head snapped up at the name, and her eyes locked with Zevran’s over the lord’s shoulder. “She keeps residence in our local Alienage.”

             Zevran crossed his arms over his chest, “Any particular way you want me to do it?”

             Lord Fernond waved his hand in dismissal, “Doesn’t matter, so long as the knife-eared bitch is dead.”

             Zevran bowed, tucking the coins into his pocket, “In the name of the Crows, it will be done.”

             “Come along, Rabbit, and don’t shuffle your feet like that, it's unbecoming.”

             She locked eyes with Zevran, a curl of hair falling out of place as she stood up straighter under his questioning eyes, “Yes, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Wow, this looks much longer on Goggle docs... Anyways, thanks for reading!   
> If you're interested in sneak peaks of this story (and maybe even upcoming stories) or just little random bits of writing you may or may not find on AO3, or if you have any requests for oneshots or something, you can follow me on tumblr (link below). Of course you don't have to, either way is fine. I'm just happy you're reading this!  
> Constructive criticism is welcome (super welcome, I'm always willing to hear any suggestions you have for me). Updates are every Thursday. Thank you so so so much for reading! - Rynn
> 
> Tumblr: http://theironcolemance.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Hope you like this one :) Sorry I posted it just a little it later than usually, I had a bit of writer's block. But it's up now, so enjoy, my lovelies.  
> If you have any comments or constructive criticism or you just wanna say hi, don't be shy!  
> If you want sneak peeks, you can find my tumblr here:  
> http://theironcolemance.tumblr.com/

Zevran couldn’t just let them leave. Everything inside of him screamed to shadow Fernond and Lysia, figure out just exactly what was going on. Besides, if Fernond asked, he could just tell him he needed more intel on this Mirynn person. Fernond was obviously used to having his own servants do the dirty work, otherwise he would have left something more to go off of. Then again, that was just an excuse. A name was more than enough for a Crow, and considering she was an elf, it was safe for him to assume she took residence in the Alienage.

            But as he watched Lysia’s retreating form, already well on her way to whatever ridiculous task Fernond would have her do, he felt entitled to the protection of his student. Also he was curious. So, keeping in the shadows - or as much in the shadows as he could during the daytime - he followed them.

            For the most part, trailing them was uneventful. Fernond didn’t beat Lysia as he had when no one was around, but his language didn’t improve. In public, he took to gripping Lysia’s arm a little too hard and murmuring what Zevran assumed were insults not unlike those from before. Occasionally Lysia would lock eyes with Zevran and shake her head. It was only when he followed them into an alleyway tucked between two stores that he discovered Fernond knew of Zevran’s presence.

            “Any reason I shouldn’t kill you for snooping, Crow?” Fernond said, turning to Zevran with a dangerous glint in his eye.

            “Well, there is the fact that if you kill me, the Crows will not leave my death unavenged, my lord.”

            Fernond sized up the assassin as Lysia started to creep aaway behind her master’s back. He caught Zevran’s inquisitive gaze on his servant and smirked, “Ah, you’re here for the rabbit/ Curious how your kind bands together.” Zevran stayed silent.

            “I’ll let you live, assassin, but if I catch you with my rabbit again, you will not find me quite as forgiving. Now leave, and finish the job I’m paying you for quickly so I don’t have to be bothered with you fraternizing with my servants.”

            Lysia caught Zevran’s eye again, nodding discreetly. The Crow bowed, “As you wish, my lord.” He said in mock-submission and then turned with a wink in Lysia’s direction.

***

            When Zevran got back to the inn that night, tired from a long day of trailing his target and gathering information, he hadn’t expected to see a beautiful woman sitting on his bed, feet tucked under her bottom and curly white hair spilling over her shoulders. She held a book in one hand and a cup of what looked to be water in the other.

            She didn’t bother to look up from her book when she greeted him, “ _Hahren_.” Her voice was a welcome sound after a long day.

            “Never would have guessed you knew elvish.”

            She shrugged, “Tried to join them once picked up a few words. Now about today,” she marked her page and placed the book and cup on the nightstand next to her carefully before turning to him, the same determined look in her eyes as the first day he met her, “If you desire to keep living, then don’t go through with killing Kyr.”

            Zevran raised an eyebrow, “And why is that? My organization would not be merciful if I let money slip through their fingers, even if it’s for a beautiful woman.” _Like Rinnala…_

Lysia stood up, a stray curl falling in her face as she moved closer to him, chest to chest (which he certainly didn’t mind), her eyes narrowed up at him, “If you’re smart, you’ll avoid the wrath of an angry woman who just so happens to be a good shot. Good enough to wound you enough to kill you slowly. If you kill Kyr, you’re killing yourself.”

            Zevran slid a small knife from the sheath tucked firmly against his lower back and squeezed the hilt. Lysia didn’t notice. “Only your first day of training and you already want to kill me,” he smirked, “It’s a shame, though I must say you’re even more beautiful when you’re angry.”

            Lysia held his gaze, the defiance in her eyes reminding him too much of Rinna, too much of the knife he pressed into his lover’s back. He frowned and sheathed the dagger behind his back. “What would you have me do instead of kill her?”

            It took a moment for Lysia to reign in the surprise on her face - Zevran made a mental note to teach her to hide her emotions better. She took a step back from him, looking sheepish. “I didn’t think you would actually agree… I was just hoping you could help us.”

            Zevran felt his heart sink - _there’s an us?_ \- and chastised himself. He shook it off and smirked, “Ah, so this Kyr is your lover?” The mild look of annoyance on Lysia’s face said it all, and Zevran’s shoulders relaxed.

“She’s a friend,” she deadpanned.

Zevran waved his hand dismissively, “That’s what they all say.” The look she gave him was murderous, “So, you had absolutely _nothing_ in mind?”

She sighed, “Not exactly…”

Zevran raised an eyebrow.

“I’m new at this, remember?”

“You better think of something quick, then, unless you want your friend dead after all.”

She scowled at him.

“Well? This is your first lesson - you have to be quick on your feet, both literally and figuratively.”

“Alright… uhm…”

Zevran tapped his foot more to annoy her than really stress her out.

“Fernond!” She shouted.

“What about him?”

“We have to kill Fernond!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late loves! I had exams on Thursday (my typical updating day) and more to study for over the weekend. I've been a bit swamped but I REALLY wanted to get this out because getting off schedule SUCKS and I love you guys and don't want to disappoint.  
> So I hope you enjoy! If you want to follow me on Tumblr here's the link: http://theironcolemance.tumblr.com/  
> If you ever want to just talk go right ahead!  
> Also, I absolutely LOVE getting comments from you guys. If you ever have any constructive criticism or just want to say hi, then by all means go right ahead.  
> Enjoy!

“Fernond!” She shouted.

“What about him?”

“We have to kill Fernond!”

Lysia had frowned when Zevran smiled. “You’re forgetting Fernond is the one paying my organization, besides, how suspicious would it be if I met a beautiful woman friends with my target and my contact died?”

“Well, you told me to come up with something.”

Zevran tipped his head in acknowledgement. “And you did as I asked, mi amor,” he paused, “Well, half of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to be quick on your feet, mi amor. You have the figurative part, you just need the literal.” And without further warning, he lunged, ghosting his blade across her shoulder enough to cut the skin but do no permanent damage.

Lysia jolted away with a yelp, holding her now bleeding shoulder. “What are you doing? I actually liked this shirt.”

Zevran tried not to laugh as he practically danced around her, buying himself time to come up with a more efficient plan to save Lysia’s friend. “Teaching you,” he replied.

Lysia scowled before that determination hardened her eyes, the same determination that - for reasons he could not explain for the life of him and most certainly did not want to explore - made him nearly trip over his own feet. But he kept himself upright, playing off the movement as intentional by hopping over some trash scattered on the ground.

Lysia removed her hand from her shoulder, a swipe of blood smearing on the palm of her hand. “With no weapon?”

He shrugged, “Improvise,”

When he lunged the second time, Lysia was ready, dodging out of the way, but she saw his left hand rise up too late and he sliced open the side of her tunic, leaving it sagging to reveal the tender skin of her belly untouched beneath it. Her frown turned deeper.

Zevran smiled, “Stay light on your feet.” He advanced a third time, Lysia barely evading both blades. “Better, let’s try it again.”

By the time their first lesson was over, Lysia’s shirt was red with droplets of blood from her shoulder and other, smaller cuts she had earned before finding a makeshift weapon. She discarded the old wooden board (previously propped up against the alley wall and now scarred with irreparable slashes) as soon as Zevran told her their lesson was over. He had his hands on his hips, looking the same as he had before the lesson had started, if a little more smug than usual.

“You did well, considering you typically handle a bow.”

She looked tired, but her eyes lit up at Zevran’s praise nonetheless.

“But don’t think I’ll go so easy on you next time, mi amor.”

Her eyes widened and her eyebrows scrunched together, “That was supposed to be easy?”

He laughed and clapped her on her injured shoulder before frowning at the blood he got on his hand and wiping it off on his leathers with a slight quirk of his lips. He cleared his throat at the amused look in her eyes, “You’ll learn to love my teaching style, believe me. Now about Fernond… I believe I have a better idea than just killing him.”

The curious almost doe-like look she gave him made his chest hurt, but she quickly cleared the emotion, looking stern as she put her hands on her hips. Oh Rinnala… I think you would like her. She likes to hide just like you did. “It involves faking a death, re-creating an identity, and a fiercely handsome elf saving the day and getting the beautiful elvish princesa at the end.”

She rolled her eyes at him, adjusting her freshly tattered tunic. “Just tell me what we’re doing, hahren.”

Zevran eyed her exposed skin, surveying the amount of damage he had done. He made a mental note to grab a salve for her wounds before sliding an arm over her shoulders and leading her out of the alley and in the direction of the Alienage. “It would be best if we discussed this privately, mi princesa.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t shrug off his arm. Zevran’s lips smoothed into a genuine smile (something he hadn’t done in quite a while) as they walked quietly. They made it to the Alienage without a hitch, Lysia leading Zevran - who was too distracted by the way her hair looked after a fight (tangled, shining with health and the light of the moon) and thinking that she really could be a Dalish princesa to really pay attention to where they were going - to her home.

“You’ll have to be quiet. My father is likely asleep and I don’t even want to think of what would happen if he found me alone with you of all people.”

“Ah, afraid for me to meet your parents just yet? Do not worry, I am an expert at sneaking into the houses of beautiful women under the noses of their fathers.”

Lysia sighed, “I bet you are. Let’s just try not to get caught, please? He would be furious if he thought I was… nevermind, let’s just go.”

He shrugged his shoulders as she opened the door, one hand on the handle and the other splayed on the cheap wood of the door, keeping quiet as she slipped inside. She held up a hand to tell him to wait before disappearing into the darkness of her home. Zevran listened to the soft creaking of the floorboards and sighed - she would have to work on her stealth skills if she wanted to be an assassin.

Her face appeared back in the doorway moments later, looking smaller, almost childlike as she poked her head through the crack in the door and Zevran snuck in behind her as she motioned him inside, noticing that she now wore a thin nightgown that went down to her knees. She pressed a finger to her lips as she led him through the small house into an even smaller room, which he assumed was hers. The nightstand looked rickety and old, her bed had a thin mattress and threadbare blankets and no pillow. He frowned, thinking of his own bed he left in Antiva. It was lush and beautiful with soft pillows and warm blankets, almost royalty, compared to the skeletal bed in front of him, and his bed was by no means the finest. He wanted to ask if this was really where she slept at night as he felt a mouse scurry over his foot, if this is really how she lived. Instead he hid behind a smirk as she closed her door and turned to him.

“I hope there’s room for two on that bed, mi princesa.”

She scoffed, “In your dreams,”

He sat on the edge of the hard bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking particularly mischievous with a strand of hair falling over his left eye. “Every night, princesa.”

She stood in front of him, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the wall. “So what’s the plan?”

He shrugged, “It’s more of a loose outline.”

“Either way, what is it?”

Zevran hummed low in the back of his throat, “We send your friend to the Dalish and make Fernond believe she’s dead.”

Lysia smiled (the same smile Rinna had when she knew something Zevran didn’t), “Only one problem, Zev.”

He raised an eyebrow at the nickname. “And what would that be?”

“She absolutely hates the Dalish.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter, but I really enjoyed writing it. I'm honestly so excited to continue this story! I can't wait to introduce Kyr and do so much more that I can't say so I don't spoil it! GAH! Enjoy this chapter lovelies!

"Only one problem, Zev."

He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, "And that would be?"

"She absolutely hates the Dalish."

Zevran laughed, "Certainly not enough to rather die than escape with them. Then again, running to the Dalish is pretty easy to figure out and I doubt Fernond is that stupid."

Lysia sat down next to him, toying with the edge of her nightdress. "He isn't," she mumbled,"that's why I'm asking for your help."

He searched her face, "You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

Lysia's eyes slid up to meet his, quiet and guilty, an inexperienced killer. "He beats is," she said, rubbing a fading bruise on her wrist, "rapes us - even man." She breathes in, closing her eyes. "But we have to stay, we need to eat, keep on living." When she opens her eyes again, he can nearly see them glowing under the scarce light coming in from the dirty window on the far side of her bedroom. Her hands clench around the piece of nightgown she had been fiddling with. "And if we do something he doesn't  like, step out of line enough times, we start to disappear."

They stay still for a long moment, eyes trained on each other, Lysia waiting for Zevran's reply and Zevran wondering how to reply. Finally, he breaks the crushing stillness and silence of the room by placing a warm hand over her clenched hands. "I cannot kill him for you, but I can teach you my ways."

He woke up the next morning to see an open window bringing in a breeze and the feeling of arms around his middle. The man next to him was a young elf with dark brown hair sticking up around his head and mossy green eyes, thin from lack of a healthy diet, but lightly muscled from work. Zevran rolled over to find the man’s eyelids flutter open before he groaned, likely hung-over from the previous night's affairs. Maybe a bit sore, too, Zevran noted with a smirk.

The elf sat up and yawned, scratching the back of his head and mussing his hair even more. “Sleep well?” He asked.

Zevran smiled, “I doubt I could have gotten bad sleep with you in my bed.” And it was true - the man had an incredible sense of calm that had spread into the assassin overnight, choking out his weariness as they lay curled around each other. Zevran thought that he would have made a good partner for whomever was lucky enough.

After they both dressed, the elf stood at the doorway, looking down at his feet and fiddling with his fingers. “So I’ll see you around?”

Zevran hummed in the back of his throat, looking around the room for something to give his nightly conquest. Finally, he cut off a swatch of one of his old shirts (he needed a new one anyways) and pressed the small scrap into the man’s hand. “Unlikely, but I thank you for the company.”  The man looked up at Zevran as his fingers curled around the cloth before nodding and - like many other lovers before him - leaving.

Zevran sighed before strapping his weapons on under what he liked to call his “street clothes.” He couldn’t have the whole world knowing he was out for blood, after all. He spent his day searching for Kyr Mirynn, talking to shopkeepers, flirting with women, the usual way he found information. Many elvish women fell suspect to his charms, gushing everything they knew about Lysia’s friend. He did learn a few things, however. One, she was loved by nearly everyone (even some of the humans that came in contact with her seemed quite taken), two she was an old woman, and three, she was a spitfire. Apparently her sass hadn’t been appreciated by Fernond, leaving him angry and her out of a job. Of course, that didn’t go over well with others under Fernond’s employ, so many others left him all at once without servants. Given Fernond’s reputation, no one was willing to take them back up. Zevran had the overwhelming feeling that he would love her, and when he saw Lysia that night he told her as much.

They met on the roof of what looked to be an abandoned bar, swinging their legs off the edge. “How did you meet her?” Zevran asked.

Lysia’s head tipped back to gaze fully at the stars, “She helped take care of me after my mother died.”

Zevran frowned, “I… apologize. I did not realize your mother was gone.”

Lysia rolled her head to the side to look at him, “It isn’t your fault. Anyways, Mirynn would always come over and bring my father and I food as a little girl, always take care of me after Fernond beat me. She’s made more potions for me than I can count, helped rub more salve on wounds he left on my back than was probably necessary. Plus, she taught me how to braid my hair and, when she was younger, how to handle a bow.” She laughed. “She never was one to sit back and let people push us around.”

Zevran caught a wisp of her curly white hair between his fingers and watched how it rolled over his fingertips. “Like you.”

She smiled and shrugged, “I guess,”

They were quiet until Zevran stood up, deciding it was time for her next lesson: stealth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is up! Enjoy lovelies!

            Zevran pulled Lysia up off of her feet, his hand strong and warm around hers. “Where are we going now?” She asked.

            “To your next lesson, mi princesa.”

            “Which is..?”

            Zevran laughed as he helped her down from the roof, hands squeezing her hips as he guided her down, “That would ruin the surprise!”

            Lysia rolled her eyes and stood near Zevran, whose hands stayed on her sides, “You’re just full of those, aren’t you?”

            He shrugged, slipping his arm around her and pulling her so they were chest to chest. He dipped his head down so his lips were near her ear, “All for your entertainment, mi princesa.” When he released her, he found himself pleased that she remained close to his side. Before he composed himself enough to step away, he placed a hand on the top of her head, sliding it down and running his fingers through the silver strands of her hair. They folded over his hands like warm water, curling into the spaces between his fingers welcomingly.

            Lysiia coughed and took a step back and Zevran’s hand fell to his side, “So, the lesson,” she said.

            Zevran cleared his throat, “Ah, yes,” he mumbled as he rummaged through a pouch on his belt and took out a small stone painted with white and blue patterns and figures engraved into its otherwise smooth surface. He held it up to Lysia for her to examine, but closed his fingers around it when she reached out to touch it. “Your job is to retrieve this,” he held up the stone again, keeping it closed in his fist, “without being seen. Wait, here while I plant it.”

            Lysia wanted to protest, tell him she was no good at sneaking. Then she realized that that was likely the reason he was doing this. _Maker,_ she thought, _let him go at least a little easy on me._

            Zevran came back moments later, no rock in his hand and a coy look on his face. He gestured for her to come closer, “Follow me, if you will.”

            Lysia moved to his side, staying close as he led her to a darkened house across the empty, moonlit street. He crept up to a window on the side of the house, pulling her in front of him so she could see. He pressed his chest against her back as an excuse to look int the window, feeling her warmth even through his leathers.

            “What is it we’re looking at, exactly?”

            He squeezed her shoulders, “Look closer, mi princesa. Remember the stone.”

            Lysia squinted, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room through the window. Inside, there were shelves upon shelves of what looked to be various herbs, vials, and both finished and unfinished potions. _An apothecary?_ She leaned in closer, nose almost pressed against the dirty glass. There, on the highest shelf, tucked between vials filled with what looked to be healing potions and anti-venoms, peeking out from under some dried elfroot, was the familiar white and blue stone. She couldn’t see the engravings from her position, but she could imagine them pressed between Zevran’s fingers, his thumb running over them. She looked up, “What do I do?”

            He shrugged, “Get it back without being caught.”

            “You act as if it’s easy!”

            He smiled, “You forget that _I_ am the one who put it there in the first place,”

            Lysia glanced back at the stone, “Fair enough… I’ll be back.” She made a move to open the window as Zevran leaned against the wall opposite to the house, the picture of ease.

            “It won’t open,” he said as Lysia’s fingers slipped. It was locked from the inside. She let out a frustrated noise and Zevran’s white teeth glistened as he smirked. “Being an assassin is not an easy task, mi princesa.”

            She shook her head and checked the other windows, but like the fist, they were sealed. There were only two options left; the cellar (which she didn’t even know if it led into the rest of the house) or the front door. She decided to go for the cellar first, picking the lock with clumsy, but efficient, hands.

            Zevran continued to watch. The cellar was a good option, tucked away from the public eye, and even it if didn’t lead to the house (and he was sure it did, a he had used it as his entrance as well), she was less likely to get caught rummaging around a cellar than falling through the front door. It would hurt nothing but perhaps her time, but he wasn’t worried about how long it took for the moment. He smiled as she slipped into the cellar, making some noise, but nt enough to get noticed. Not yet, at least.

            Lysia got into the house without a problem. THe stairs leading to the rest of the house creaked only a little, and the door hardly made a sound. She tried to make her steps even lighter as she searched for the room with the apothecary supplies. However, she became so focused on being quiet that she almost missed the door to the very room she was looking for and came very close to running into a table with a very fragile-looking bowl on it, teetering on the edge and just waiting to ruin Lysia’s little adventure. She wondered, as she nudged it further onto the table, if Zevran had moved it to see if she would knock it over. Shrugging away the thought, she continued into the room of shelves and potions.

            _Almost there, Lysia,_ she thought, _just grab the rock and get out._ Moving as quiet as she could manage, she shuffled into the middle of the room. Zevran was watching her through the window, and amused smile on his lips as he waved to her. Shaking her head, Lysia returned to her task, feeling weighed down by her _hahren_ ’s eyes following her. With a sigh, she pulled herself onto one of the shelves more clear of clutter, testing its stability. Once she knew it could handle her full weight, she rose from her crouching position, reaching out for the stone.

            Her legs shook and her fingers trembled as she reached up, and her shaking caused the contents of the shelf she perched on to rattle and clang together softy. Lysia cursed herself in silence, taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes to steady her body. Once she felt confident enough, she opened her eyes once more and realized that, even standing on a shelf, she was too short to reach the stone. _Maybe if I…_ she pushed her feet so she was balancing on the tips of her toes and stretched as far as her body would allow. Her fingers brushed the cool surface before taking the stone fully into shaking hands.

            But her foot - strained from holding all of her weight on her toes and doing a balancing act - slipped out from under her. There was a crash as vials fell to the floor, some breaking into little starlets of glass shimmering under the light of the moon and splattering their contents out in jagged splashes of color, others bouncing and clanging on the floor fairly undamaged. Lysia luckily caught herself before she fell as she heard footsteps pounding in her direction. She spared a glance out of the window, only to find her _hahren_ and friend gone. _Damn him!_ She thought, hopping towards the window (she didn’t want to get cut by the glass and doubted she would like the effects of the potions splattered across the floor) and unlatching it. The steps grew louder, heavier as they got closer. Lysia slid out of the window and closed it behind her (maybe then he wouldn’t know that’s how she got out?) before she ran, the stone pressed into her palm and warming at the elf’s touch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am getting SO PUMPED for this story!  
> Enjoy this chapter, lovelies, and as always please feel free to comment constructive criticism or to just say hi or say stuff you liked! Anything is welcome. Love you!  
> (PS: if you'd like I will be posting a sneak preview into my new Solavellan fic coming out this Monday on my tumblr pretty soon. Like... tomorrow soon? If you're interested, the link is below)  
> http://theironcolemance.tumblr.com/

            _I can’t believe that asshole!_ Lysia thought, once again glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. The stone warmed in her hand, a fresh reminded of her _hahren_ ’s betrayal. She shook her head, ignoring the hot runes imbedded in the smooth surface as she focused on getting home. She had been out late pretty often, but there were only so many excuses she could make to her father. Elven eyes were everywhere, and word spread quickly once it found its way onto elven lips. She couldn’t have her father thinking she was out on romantic escapades all across Denerim while she and her assassin-mentor broke into houses for training, not with her wedding day coming closer as each day passed.

            Arriving at her house, Lysia checked over her shoulder one last time before unlocking and unlatching the door and creeping inside. It was dark in the small living quarters, but she made out the shape of her father draped in a chair, book on his chest that rose and fell with each breath he took. A lantern was drawn by his side, but had long since fizzled out, and Lysia frowned. Her father didn’t often stay up late and had never been a man known to be careless enough to fall asleep in a chair. She grabbed a blanket from his bedroom, skin becoming irritated by the scratchy fibers, and tucked him in. She would have to remember to buy him a potion from Kyr to help ease the inevitable ache he would have in his neck the following morning.

            After making sure her father was taken care of and putting the book ( _What Happens in Kirkwall_ with no listed author) in the bookshelf, Lysia’s adrenaline was fading fast. She found herself stumbling and trying to keep her eyes open long enough to get into some nightclothes and get some good sleep. She noticed, however, that the strip of air between her door and the floorboards was a gentle, flickering yellow and not the empty blackness she would have expected. Pausing outside of her doorway, she pressed an ear to the thin wood. Her bed creaked; someone was obviously trying to get comfortable (she nearly scoffed at the prospect of it), squirming and shifting this way and that. Lysia reached for her knife, keeping a hand on it as she eased the door open, only to be rewarded with the sight of Zevran lounging in her bed. His shoes were off, his pants loose and casual along with his shirt (which dipped down to show the start of a tattoo matching the one on his face). With his left hand he held up his head while his right was preoccupied with balancing a book between his fingers. His hair had no braid and was instead damp and wavy.

            He didn’t look up, “Thought you would never make it,” he said.

            Lysia’s hand tightened around the rock (which seemed to only flare hotter with her temper) and for a moment she entertained the idea of throwing it at him. _Maker knows he’d deserve it,_ she thought. “You just… left me there!” She exclaimed.

            Zevren held a finger to his lips, “Your father is sleeping,”

            Lysia gaped as he flipped the page, not even bothering to acknowledge her. “But you just _left me in there alone_! What if I had been caught?” She whisper-yelled.

            He turned another page, the tattoo on his cheek shifting as he smiled, “You were never in any _real_ danger, mi princesa.” He replied, “I wouldn’t do that to you. At least, not on your first lesson. As for your second… ah, we will just have to see.”

            Lysia crossed her arms, “Zevran, I can’t get arrested. I have a reputation to keep around here.”

            That’s when he finally put the book down, his brown-green eyes pinning her in place. “An upcoming assassin with a good reputation? Mi princesa…” he sighed, shaking his head, “I know you are not stupid enough to believe that is possible.”

            There was silence before the wounded look in her eyes had him opening his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off. “Well you aren’t the one in an arranged marriage trying to keep your family from starving to death, are you?”

            Zevran tried again to speak, his eyes wide and one foot on the floor waiting to be utilized. His eyelids fluttered, “You are… engaged?”

            Her arms fell back to her sides and she moved over to her nightstand, shoving the stone into a drawer, the circles under her eyes more prominent than he had ever seen them. “Is it really that hard to believe?” She asked softly.

            He looked down at his hands, imagining them pressed into the small of her back, running through her hair, gripping her hands, sliding them over the expanse of her bare skin. Except he wouldn’t be able to do that. He wanted to throw up. “Then what would make you think you could be an assassin?” He found that he was especially terrible with words that night, especially when Lysia’s turned to him, her eyes blazing.

            “You want to know, _hahren_?” Her voice was oddly cool, even when she spat his title – the title she gave him herself. “Maybe because I’m tired of watching the people I love die all around me.” She took a step closer to him. “Maybe because of my father or my cousins or my damned fiancé.” She now stood nose-to-nose and chest-to-chest with him. He could taste her breath (cinnamon and elfroot) on his lips. “Maybe because it’s the only thing my mother left me before she died.” She whispered.

            Zevran felt her rugged breathing and his beating heart. He wondered – fleetingly – if Rinnala would mind if he kissed the beautiful elf in front of him. The thought fluttered away as Lysia’s arms circled around him and her head pressed against his chest. He stood still for a moment before returning the hug, rubbing her back in silence. She made to pull away, eyes downcast, but he nudged her back into place, lifting her chin with his hand. Their eyes met. “I’m sorry, Lysia.”

            She blinked, head flinching back just enough to be noticeable. Her name sounded foreign on his Antivan tongue, but (she decided) nice.

            “I did not intend to be so harsh, mi princesa.” His voice was a whisper ghosting over her skin as their faces inched closer. His lips had only just brushed against hers (barely even noticeable) when they heard a soft thump and footsteps nearing the bedroom. Zevran was across the room and at her window in a second, “I will see you tomorrow,” He said, voice low, and the leaped out of the window. She kept her eyes on the spot he had disappeared until there was a knock on the door and the gentle voice of her father calling for her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this is late! I was on vacation last week, and this week I was just a bit late because after I turned my reminder alarm off I forgot *blush* I'm a bit ditsy, ey?  
> Anyways, I'm really excited for what's coming up in this story!  
> If you have any questions, comments, constructive criticisms, or just wanna say hi, by all means, go right ahead! I love to hear from you guys (and i do read all of my comments, even if I don't reply)  
> Anyways! Here's the next chapter!  
> (PS: if you want to find some one shot you can't read anywhere else by yours truly, or if you want to just see what kind of shenanigans I'm up to or ask a question or give me a prompt or whatever, here's my tumblr: theironcolemance.tumblr.com)  
> Enjoy!

“Mirynn has yet to be disposed of. Would you like to explain why?” Fernond asked, his voice cool. Zevran watched as he placed a hand on the top of Lysia’s head, fingers tangling into the white strands as he pulled her head up with a jerk and watching Zevran for a reaction of the handling of his very pretty, very _elven_ servant. Zevran held back a wince as Lysia let out a soft gasp. “Well? I do not have all night, _assassin_.”

            Zevran crossed his arms over his chest, “It takes time to gather information on a target, and then more to plan the actual assassination, _my lord_.”

            Fernond gripped Lysia’s hair tighter, making her large eyes shimmer in the dim light of the moon. She gazed at him, mouth pulled back in a snarl to show off gritted teeth as strands of white fell into her eyes. She looked absolutely savage, and, Zevran thought, absolutely beautiful with the defiance radiant in her face. He turned his gaze back to Fernond, feigning indifference.

            Fernond gripped Lysia’s hair tighter, “I’m not paying you for information, I’m paying you to _kill the damned knife-ear_!” He hissed.

            Zevran held the lord’s gaze, “Assassinate, not just kill. If you are forgetting, I am a _Crow_ and you gave me no direction as to how or when you desired the target to be assassinated. I only use what you give me, Lord Fernond.”

            Fernond tossed Lysia aside in his anger and Zevran watched as she sprawled out onto the stone. “Well you should assume I wanted it done quickly!”

            Quirking an eyebrow, Zevran let out a soft huff of breath, “And risk angering the man that hired me?”

            This didn’t seem to do much to quell the lord’s anger (not that Zevran cared, especially with Lysia lying on the ground, blood dripping from her nose as she watched them), and he strode closer to Zevran, jabbing a finger in his chest, “Listen here, knife-ear, you either kill Mirynn within the next two days or I make sure those Crows of yours know just how dissatisfied I am with you, and if I’ve heard correctly, they don’t take failure to perform lightly.”

            For a long moment, Zevran and Fernond stared each other down while Lysia watched, wiping the blood from her nose and lip. Zevran bowed his head, “It will be done as you asked, my lord.”

            Fernond backed away, “Maker help you if it isn’t. Lysia, make sure the carriage is ready for me, pet. Don’t dally, get on your feet and go!” He turned back to Zevran, “Remember what I said, _rabbit_.” He hissed.

            Zevran cocked his head to the side, a smile baring his teeth as his eyes glinted, “ _Crows_ ,” he emphasized, “never forget, my lord.”

***

            Lysia again found herself sitting on the rooftop of the abandoned bar next to Zevran. They sat close, legs brushing whenever Lysia swung her feet into the darkness below them. “You’re quiet tonight,” she commented, turning her head to look at him. He wasn’t wearing his usual smirk and was instead looking out on the city of Denerim, loose blonde hair shifting in the wind. His eyes were void of all mischief and his hands played with the straps of his leather armor, “Is something wrong?” Lysia asked.

            He turned to look at her, “I am just tired, mi princesa.”

            Her skin looked lighter at night, her eyes somehow bigger, as wide as a child’s when receiving a new toy. She tipped her head to the side, making her hair cascade down around her like tendrils of some unknown magic, lost to the endless touch of time. She reached out to touch him, her fingers grazing his shoulder.

            He grasped her hand in one of his, trapping it as their eyes met, “You once told me that Fernond forces himself on his servants. Is that still true, mi princesa?”

            Lysia tugged her hand out of his and let it fall to rest in her lap along with her other hand as she stared down at her feet (which had stopped their swinging, Zevran noticed) dangling helplessly into the empty space below them. “He chooses a servant every night based off of their performance that day. It’s usually between punishing the worst or ‘rewarding’” she spat the word, a scowl finding her face, “the best. Whoever he chooses stays the night with him or else he…” Lysia paused, breath hitching.

            Zevran leaned forward, trying to look behind her veil of hair that hid her from his view to get a good look at her face. “’Or else he…’ what, princesa?”

            She lifted her head, making her gentle face visible once more. The childlike wonder in her eyes had left, leaving them half-lidded and her features seemed to be all hard lines. “He puts you in the dungeons and leaves you for the guards.”

            “Have you ever been..?”

            Lysia scoffed, “I was a fighter before I was his favorite, Zevran.”

            He pulled one knee up to his chest, “He has not chosen you lately?”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            Her fingers splayed against the rough texture of the roof as she leaned back on her hands. “He injured me last time and gave me some time off to heal. He told me I had to remain ‘up to his standards.’”

            Zevran turned his head to look back out on the city. “Make sure he chooses you tomorrow night.”

            Lysia jolted, “Excuse me?”

            “I said, ‘make sure he chooses you-‘”

            “I heard what you said but… why?”

            Zevran hummed in the back of his throat (probably to keep the bile from rising up), “Because you’re going to kill him.”

            “But you said…”

            He raised his hand and Lysia quieted at the simple gesture, “I know what I said, but I changed my mind.”

            “And why is that?”

            He turned his head to regard her, pausing as their eyes met. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek, thumb running over the split in her lip. “Because I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.” He whispered. _Even if it means that bastard touching you_.

            Lysia’s heart thudded in her chest as he neared her, his calloused hand gentle on her cheek. She leaned in close enough to rest her forehead on his, eyes closing as he chuckled, sending his breath puffing across her face (it smelled of Antivan wine and the pastry they had shared earlier that evening).

            Their lips met, and Zevran closed his eyes, his other hand reaching up to cup the other side of her face. He reveled in the taste of her (elfroot potions she drank every night before seeing him) and found himself leaning until her back was pressed onto the roof. Her hands on his chest halted him, and he pulled away, still hovering over her, taking her in. Her eyes were dilated, her hair fanning out around her head (a fitting crown for his princesa, indeed), and her lips were parted as she breathed out his name softly, “Zevran,” she said, nudging him off of her.

            He made to move away completely, realizing he may have been too forward but her small fingers intertwined with his, causing him to stop, muscles relaxing. He gazed at her.

            Her lips met his once more, but she pulled away too soon for his liking with a smirk on her lips, “We still have a lord to kill,”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I had to rewrite this chapter a few times because it kept going in a direction I did not like, but I finally (semi) like this one, so here you go!  
> I hope you like this chapter, and thank you so so much for reading, loves!

Zevran was pacing a small trench in the dirt road of the market. He had originally gone to at least try not to think about Lysia. But he found her everywhere; in a distant laugh (a woman flirting with one of the vendors for a better price), in a flash of white hair (an old man with his long locks tied up in a tight bun), and even in the reflections in windows, puddles, and hand mirrors being sold by a young Antivan peddler. Looking at the items did no good either. He found fine crafted bows and arrows (some even enchanted) and allowed himself to imagine her lithe form tensed in an archer's stance, her stomach fit, her shoulders back, and one eye closed as she focused on her target.  
And then he thought of Fernond, and her plan, and, balling his fists, he wished he hadn't suggested seduction and slow-acting poison. The thought of her tangled up in bed with someone else was bad enough, but for her to be unwilling nearly threw Zevran into making up a new plan, one that mostly involved saving Lysia and then a very long, very steamy bath together. He would cleanse her of her master's touch, massage the feeling of Fernond's fingers out of her skin with his own, brush his hands down the planes of her tanned flesh, let his mouth wander over her naked shoulders.  
But there was nothing he could do now, and if Lysia really didn’t want to go through with it, she would have told him, right? Zevran exchanged his pacing in the market for walking laps around Denerim. She would be back the next morning, as unscathed and stubborn and beautiful as she always was. Perhaps he would treat her to lunch, or maybe buy some sort of treat to give her at their late-night rendezvous.  
He spent his time circling the town all day (even saving a woman from being mugged just to distract himself for a moment that didn’t last as long as he would have wished). He didn’t sleep that night and instead sat atop the abandoned bar and looked at the stars. He imagined Rinna’s face, gazing down at him inquisitively. “What do you think, mi amor?” He whispered, “Have I killed her too?”  
Rinnala stared down, unblinking, the contours of her face more jagged and celestial and less like her.  
Zevran looked down at his feet, dangling into an empty street filled only with silence, the familiar movement of Lysia’s scuffed boots swinging back and forth missing. He picked at a loose tile on the roof until his fingers bled and it was nearly dislodged.  
Scratch scratch. “She’s beautiful, you know.” An intake of breath as the edge of the tile bit into sore and bloodied fingers. “And dangerous.” The tile wiggled. Scratch scratch. “She reminds me of you, at least, at first she did.” The tile slid into Zevran’s palm. “But she’s so different, so innocent.” He fingered the rough edges and hummed, “I am afraid I have taken that away from her, Rinna. I am afraid I’ve taken the life of someone else I -” He paused, lowering his voice as if someone else could hear besides the stars. “Someone else I care about.” He glanced back up at celestial Rinna before climbing off of the roof, the tile left abandoned and bloody under the beaming moonlight.  
***  
When day broke and Zevran had properly mended his hands with elfroot poultices and bandages, he found himself in the shadows near Lysia’s house. Her father was absent - likely working - and Zevran was stuck between breaking in and waiting for her in her bedroom or biding his time until later that night. But then a flash of their last meeting on the rooftop came back. His lips hummed in remembrance of how warm and gentle her mouth was, of how her tongue tasted like fresh plums and summertimes in Antiva. Another day seemed too long, and Zevran soon found himself lounged on her bed, his shoes off and one of her books in his hands.  
The words might as well have been meaningless, and Zevran only vaguely recognized that he was reading about the history of Andraste and how she liberated Tevinter (a story he had heard thousands of times). Lysia’s tiny house was quiet and her bed - though not very comfortable - convincing enough to sleep in (especially when one had such a bad night’s sleep), and Zevran soon found his head lolling and his consciousness being tugged into the Fade.  
***  
Zevran hummed, pressing his cheek into the top of Rinna’s hair. They were still in bed, bare legs tangled together. Her laugh was soft and rich with grogginess as her fingers drifted over the tattoo on his cheek. “Comfortable?” She asked.  
“More like I am not prepared to face the day, mi amor.” He murmured.  
She squirmed onto her side, holding her head in her hand and gazing down at her lover, “And what happened to my bold, handsome assassin? Finally get bored of Taleisen after so long?”  
Zevran laughed, sliding his hand over her pale stomach, “Certainly not,”  
Rinna raised a teasing eyebrow, “So you enjoy sharing me with another man?”  
He moved his hand to her hip bone, tracing patterns over the soft skin stretched over it. “You are not mine to share, mi amor.”  
“Then pray tell, who is?”  
With a squeeze on her hip, he grinned, “You have always been your own, Rinnala.” He purred.  
Laughing, she nudged his shoulder and stood up. Her bare back and rear was turned to him, skin marred with an occasional scar, and she turned to offer a coy smile. “Better get up if you want to get paid, Zevran.”  
***  
Zevran’s arm tensed, fingers twitching as he stirred. He burrowed his face into soft hair, inhaling the fresh scent of crystal grace soap. Her hair was still damp, that much he could tell from the moisture against his cheek. She must have just bathed. Then he felt the scratchy blankets against his skin and the hard mattress on his shoulder.  
This was most certainly not Rinnala’s small apartment in Antiva.  
He jolted up, blinking sleep out of his eyes and glancing down at the woman beside him. “Lysia?” He breathed.  
Her fingers were tangled in his shirt and bruises dotted her cheeks like ugly paint blots. He desperately wanted to wake her up, to ask her if that son-of-a-bitch was dead, but judging from the purple and blue splotches on her normally unblemished (save for a scar here and there) skin and the darkness underneath her closed eyes, the sleep was much needed. Zevran instead tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear and settled down on his back, waiting for Lysia to wake up, waiting for a report, ready to brush his lips against hers.


End file.
